Friday, September 27, 2013

Shadow's Promise is now available!

Jessie McCrea fleas to the colonial frontier for a new life
free from servitude.When she uncovers a
tomahawk buried on her property, she never expects to find a most insufferable
Mohawk warrior attached to it.Shadow
represents everything she’s escaped from and she will stop at nothing to
maintain her life of peace and solitude.

Haunted by his past, Shadow must keep his people from being
destroyed in the upcoming war between the Colonists and the British.Jessie is everything Shadow left behind.He does not deserve her, yet he is
uncontrollably attracted to her.He must
make Jessie see that life with him will be anything but captivity.

A captive heart is a dangerous prospect…

Excerpt:

“Woman, you are trespassing.”

Nearly
jumping out of her skin, Jessie dropped the tomahawk.She whirled to find a half-naked Indian standing
within inches of her.

She
was too dumbstruck to do anything but stare.With the exception of a string of beaver claws suspended from his neck,
the man wore nothing but a leather breechcloth which exposed bold, well-defined
muscles.He had sleek, foxlike features,
high cheekbones, and a prominent jaw.His hair, black as night, fell nearly tohis waist, and his left ear was pierced with copper rings.

“You
are trespassing.” His English was astonishingly good.Never taking his gaze from her, he threw down
the two large bundles of beaver pelts he carried, picked up the tomahawk and
inspected it.“Who are you?”

Jessie
froze, her gaze fixed on the huge knife at his belt.

This
man was as wild looking as if he had come from the fiery gates of hell.She had heard too many horror tales.Of innocent babies getting their heads bashed
against tree trunks.Of men burned alive
or forced to run gauntlets of two or three hundred warriors.And she didn’t even want to think about what
they did to women.

She
stared at the musket he had thrown down with his pelts.It was not a heavy barreled gun but a long,
narrow fowling piece.She wondered if it
still worked.Any more rusted, it would
be considered nothing more than blacksmith scrap.

“Who
are you, trespasser?”His voice rose
gruffly, as if he were trying to frighten her.

“Jessica—uh,
Jess,” she stammered still eyeing the musket. She had heard it was better to
put a gun to your head than to be taken as an Indian’s prisoner.Well, she had not escaped six years of hell
to commit suicide.If anyone was coming
out of this alive, it would be her.

She
held her chin up, refusing to let him see how scared she was.“My name is Jessie McCrea, and I am not a
trespasser.”

His
eyes, like two flecks of night, stared at her with intense curiosity.“I am called Shadow.Shadow of the Wolf Clan, of the People of the
Flint, of the Hodenosaunee, Six
Nations.I say you are a trespasser.”

“The
New World belongs to no one yet.”

“My
people were her long before you, Jessie McCrea.”He spoke her name slowly, stressing each
syllable with a strange pronunciation.